


Circumstances Be

by onceuponachildhood



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: In Spite of a Nail AU, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponachildhood/pseuds/onceuponachildhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cullen leaves the Templars in Kirkwall, Carver asks to go with him. | A Templar-Carver-joins-the-Inquisition AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cullen

There was a knock on the door. Cullen looked up from the meager bag he'd packed. "Enter."

Carver entered the room, eyes almost lyrium-bright in the pre-dawn light. "Knight-Captain, ser, they say you're-" his gaze dropped to the packed bag, the bed stripped and linens folded neatly at the foot. Cullen could see the emotions playing out across Carver's face. Was he really only two years younger than Cullen himself? Cullen couldn't remember the last time he’d been so easy to read, had shown emotion other than anger so openly. Carver swallowed, and whatever decision he'd been trying to make was clearly made. "You're leaving with the Seeker." It wasn't a question anymore, but Cullen still nodded. "To, what, fix the Circles and the Order? Prevent this war from getting worse?"

That was actually about as much as the Seeker had lined out for him. How did Carver...? "That seems to be the goal for now. There is a conclave to be held. The leaders of these various groups will be meeting to hopefully come to terms with some peace."

"Right." Carver looked down a moment, then met Cullen's gaze with an intensity he could only expect from a Hawke. "Take me with you, ser."

"What?"

Carver fidgeted, but he didn't break eye contact. Cullen was almost impressed. "I joined the Order to change something. To- to make a difference, do some good. But Meredith..." He exhaled a shuddering breath. Cullen could understand. After all, it was his guilt and disgust at what the Knight-Commander had done that had him so readily accepting Seeker Pentaghast's offer. "I knew the people that helped cause this mess," he said. "I had drinks with them, or followed their orders. Looked up to them."

"It's not your fault this happened," Cullen said, not unkindly. It was startling to hear things he'd thought himself coming from the lips of another.

Carver made a low noise of frustration. "I know it's not! But I knew these people, watched their backs and although it's certainly not my _fault_ that this happened, it is my responsibility to try to help if I can." He did look away then. "And I can, if you'll take me with you when you go."

He was earnest. Earnest and eager and a damn decent fighter. A little hot-headed, sure, but Cullen had seen the same problem in the Champion. And like the Champion, he supposed, Carver stood ready to make a change. "Very well," Cullen said, and pretended not to notice the look of intense relief on Carver's face. "We leave at dawn. Can you have your things together by then?"

"I, uh, already packed, ser."

That was enough to make Cullen chuckle. "Then you will be ready in time. Meet us in the courtyard. I will convince Seeker Pentaghast that you are worth any trouble."

Carver slipped from his quarters with a salute and quiet thanks.

 

* * *

 

Seeker Pentaghast turned toward Cullen with a raised eyebrow as Carver joined them in the courtyard. “Who’s this?”

He was saved from explaining by the next figure to move into the space. Varric’s voice was familiar enough to Cullen, though he hadn’t been expecting to hear it here. “Little Hawke! Long time no see!”

“Varric,” Carver replied, tone flat. Cullen didn’t miss the twitch at the corner of the Seeker’s mouth at his clear dislike of the dwarf.

Varric smiled. His expression was as wry as Cullen had remembered. “Oh, you wound me. Is that any way to speak to a friend?”

“You were Marian’s friend, not mine.” Carver adjusted his pack on his back. “Don’t act happy to see me now.” Something shifted in Varric’s face - his smile faltered or his eyes lost that amused glint to them.

“Enough,” interrupted the Seeker. There was someone else who didn’t appreciate Varric being around, not that Cullen understood. Varric and Hawke had often been right assholes, but they were decent people. Their hearts were in the right place. “What’s the Champion’s little brother doing here?”

Cullen bit back a sigh when Carver bristled. “He has volunteered his services to our cause, Lady Seeker.”

“Has he?”

She was hard to read, sometimes. Cullen wasn’t sure if she was appraising the man or contemplating the easiest way to get him to shove off. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to phase Carver. He brought his hand to his chest and saluted. “Yes, Seeker Pentaghast. I want to help.”

Varric spoke up. “The kid’s a real asshole, Seeker, but he’s handy with a blade. Hawke trusted no one more in a fight.” Varric grinned. “Well, other than yours truly, but who could blame her?” Seeker Pentaghast made a noise of disgust when Varric winked at her.

Carver looked torn between preening at the praise and telling Varric off. Cullen fought the urge to laugh- Maker preserve him, laughing at a time like this- and spoke as well. “He is a gifted fighter, Seeker. And he has a desire to help our cause. I will vouch for him, if nothing else will sway you.”

The Seeker huffed out a breath that might have been a sigh from anyone less trained than she. “Very well. I will trust your judgement, Ser Cullen. Let’s move out. It’s a long way to Haven.”


	2. Cassandra

Cassandra stood at the railing of the ship, feeling the sway of the boat beneath her feet, the smooth banister under her palms. She looked out toward the horizon and took a deep breath. It was just after dawn; she’d been training herself for years to rise with the sun and being on a ship didn’t change that.

Her few moments' silence was broken by booted footsteps. She did not turn, just waited until whomever had interrupted her thoughts made themselves known.

Cullen moved to stand at the railing beside her. Cassandra watched him in her peripheral. He  settled his hands on the wood, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and looked down at the water. The silence stretched on for a few more moments.

Clearly, he had something to tell her. If it were anyone else, she would demand them to spit it out already. But she didn’t know Cullen well, yet, and they would need him if the Conclave didn’t turn out correctly. She thought of the Divine’s writ, safely tucked away in Leliana’s keeping. Yes, they would need a commander for their forces, should forces be required. Cullen was young for it, perhaps, but age didn’t always equal experience, or youth naivete.

Perhaps she wasn’t giving him enough credit, though. He was a Fereldan. Maybe she could balance directness and delicacy. Cassandra very nearly snorted at the idea of herself being delicate. It… wasn’t a strong suit, to be certain.

“It feels strange to be returning to Ferelden again,” he said at length.

Cassandra kept her gaze on the horizon. “It would, wouldn’t it? I was under the impression that you hadn’t planned on returning at all.”

“I hadn’t.” His fingers gripped the wood tightly. Leliana had given her the barest of details about Cullen’s time at Kinloch but a Seeker knew the dangers of a blood mage infiltrating the ranks of the senior enchanters. She could fill in the gaps Leliana’s report had left.

Cassandra let go of the railing to straighten her back. “You did well for yourself in Kirkwall. You were twenty when you were promoted to Knight-Captain.”

“It was Knight-Commander Meredith’s hatred of mages that she saw reflected in myself, nothing more.” His voice was harsh before he realized just who he was speaking with. “I’m sorry, Lady Seeker-”

She waved a hand at him. “Don’t. There is no need to apologize for recognizing what you missed the first time around.” Cullen nodded and slumped just the tiniest bit onto the railing. “Don’t sell yourself short, either. Meredith had many faults, but she knew a good soldier from a bad one. She was not under the influence of the red lyrium when you arrived in Kirkwall. She chose you based on your skill. I assume your attitude was just a bonus for her.”

“Seeker Pentaghast-”

“And you may as well drop the formalities now.” She turned to regard him, hands clasped behind her back. Parade rest made it easier to keep your balance on a deck, and it had the added benefit of making you appear military. It was something she was well-practiced in. “Maker willing, it won’t, but should the Conclave fail you and I will be of equal rank.” She allowed herself a dry smile. “Seeing as how you’ve left the Order and I’ve left the Seekers, we appear to be of equal rank anyway.”

“So it appears,” he replied.

“That will do, Cullen.” She felt a real smile threaten her face at the look of confusion on his face dissolving into what could only be called a pout. She’d poked at him, teased him a little, and he’d recognized it. It wasn’t often her sense of humor was understood. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

He rubbed a thumb along the railing. “Perhaps later? You’ve given me some things to think about, Lady Cassandra.” Pah. It was close enough to casual use of her name that she’d let it go for now.

She nodded. “Very well. Breakfast should be available in the galley shortly. I expect to see you there.” She turned and strode toward the hatch. Maybe she had time to catch up on her reading a bit before breakfast.

 


	3. Carver

Carver couldn’t get off the boat fast enough, though after time at sea it was strange to feel the solid ground. He stumbled and righted himself with a deep breath. The port smelled like a port, sure, but underneath it all he could smell dirt and cold and probably a hint of dog. Off in the distance he could hear kids laughing and a hound braying. It stopped him in his tracks.

“Home sweet home, little Hawke?”

Carver didn’t even scowl at the nickname. The reality of the situation, the surreality of it, was almost overwhelming. “I never thought I’d see Ferelden again,” he said, voice unusually soft.

Varric blessedly didn’t note the lack of bite. “Life has a funny way of working out, or so I’m told.” He clapped a hand on Carver’s arm, a quick gesture, before stepping away. “We’d better get moving before the Seeker puts us back on the ship and ships us back.”

“Right.” Carver forced his feet to move, making his way over to where Seeker Pentaghast and Cullen waited. At least she didn’t look too annoyed at the momentary distraction. Cullen even looked almost, well, fond. Carver belatedly remembered that Cullen was Fereldan too.

The Seeker pursed her lips. “If you’re done daydreaming we should get a move on. At this rate the Conclave will have begun before we arrive.”

 

* * *

 

Carver was absolutely certain that the Seeker wasn’t human. They’d been traveling for a few days, from dawn til dusk every day. Varric had long since given up complaining and simply trudged along in miserable silence. Carver himself felt like he could sleep for weeks, and each morning it was harder to make himself crawl out of his tiny tent. Even Cullen, who he’d seen work through the night more than once to keep Kirkwall from falling apart, looked drawn. But Cullen still rode with a straight back and not a single complaint despite the bags under his eyes. The Seeker herself had to be made of iron. There was no other explanation for it. She rose before everyone, took her watches without complaint, and she seemed to always be ready to strike should something happen. She didn’t even have bags under her eyes. Carver didn’t understand how someone could push themselves so hard on a journey and still look as put-together as the Seeker.

On their eighth day on the road, Cassandra drew her horse up before a bend in the road and raised a hand. She sat, still and silent. Carver fought the urge to ask what was going on. Finally, Cassandra dismounted. “Fighting ahead,” she said shortly. “Sounds like an ambush. Bandits, most likely. Tie your horses and follow me.” She looped her reins cleverly around a tree branch. Carver copied the motion, clumsy but well enough to hold, and did as he was told.

They went around the bend, weapons readied, and they did in fact come upon bandits raiding a caravan. There was screaming and crying. Carver spotted a body, too small to be an adult, slumped beside one of the wagons.

“Dispatch the bandits!” Cassandra ordered, like it was that easy, and she stepped into the fray as smoothly as a hand parting water. Carver watched dumbfounded as she hit a bandit hard enough with her shield to cave in his helmet. It was only when Cullen cut across his vision that he remembered himself and charged into the battle, greatsword at the ready.

It was hard to keep track of what was happening in battle. Carver pushed thought from his head. He focused on cutting down enemies and keeping an eye of his companions, lest they get overwhelmed. Cullen was good at holding his own, and Seeker Pentaghast was like a force of nature. Carver stayed close to Varric, instead, making sure the archer was never left with more than one enemy around him at a time.

In the end, no one of their side had even been injured. The bandits were untrained, unorganized. Also very dead. Cassandra sought out the survivors of the attack and spoke with an older woman. Probably whoever was in charge of the caravan. Carver turned away from them and leaned back against a boulder. He cleaned his blade both to take care of the weapon and to have an excuse to rest.

Varric made his way over to the boulder. “You’re better with that thing than I’d remembered,” he said. Carver made a noncommittal noise. “Thanks for watching my back, little Hawke.”

Carver was spared from yet again having to respond to the ridiculous nickname by Cassandra’s summons. He walked over to where she stood with the travelers. “Yes, Seeker Pentaghast?” She waved them off and turned her unsettling gaze on him.

“You have a new task, Ser Carver. You will be escorting these people to West Hill and protecting them along the roads.” He was being sent on an errand. He wanted to scream. She seemed to sense the gist of his thoughts, and her brow furrowed just enough to warn him not to talk back. “Once you have finished this task, they will be sending supplies and soldiers to Haven. You will travel back with them and command these soldiers.”

“Command them?” Carver couldn’t help but ask. He’d expected to eventually be sent to do petty work. But this… this was something else entirely. “I’m… honored, Seeker, but I haven’t led a squad before.”

Cassandra might have smiled. Carver wasn’t sure. It was there and gone so quickly that he thought he might have imagined the whole thing. “Cullen deems you ready for the task, and as he has worked with you longer I will trust his judgement.” She took a step toward Carver so that she could lower her voice. “I fear for the Conclave,” she explained. “These supplies and recruits will be vital to our cause should the Conclave fail. This is no grunt work you are being sent on, Carver Hawke. I expect nothing less than success. Is that understood?”

He brought his fist to his chest in a silent salute.

“Very good. We will see you again in Haven.”


	4. Cassandra

“Lady Cassandra.” She looked up from Leliana’s report on the acquisition of their ambassador. Cullen stood at the flap of her tent. “Might I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped into the modest space and sank down on the spare stool. In the candlelight, the shadows under his eyes looked deeper than ever. He looked about as haggard and tired as Cassandra felt.

“As a Seeker, there’s something you should know.” Cullen closed his eyes and let of a shuddering breath. They sat for a few moments in silence; Cullen with his eyes closed, dealing with his own demons, and Cassandra warily watching. Eventually, he said “When I left the Templar Order to join the Inquisition, I _left_ the Order. After what Meredith did, after I followed her so blindly down that dark path, I want nothing to do with that life. I will give everything to the Inquisition. I’ve..." A beat. Two. Cassandra waited. "I've stopped taking lyrium.”

Her fist clenching on her lap was the only outward sign she gave of hearing him. Now that she was looking at him closely, she might have noticed the signs. She’d assumed it was just the weight of command, or dealing with the madness that was the Breach. But it was not so. “How are you faring?”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. His eyes flew open and he turned the full force of his disbelieving gaze on her. She gazed back, careful to keep her expression calm and her posture relaxed. Or, well, as relaxed as she usually got. “It is… difficult.” She hadn’t honestly expected him to be so candid - what did he have to hide, now that this was out in the open? - and that frankness went a long way to support the faith she’d had in this man so far. “But I will endure.”

“That is all I can ask, Cullen.” Again his face displayed shock and hope. Was it so hard to believe that she might support him in this? She looked at his tense shoulders, his trembling hands. No, she felt the doubt was probably with himself. No matter. If he would not have faith in himself, she would carry that faith for him.

He didn’t leave, however. “I have a favor to ask of you, Lady Cassandra. As a frie- as a former Seeker, as a key member of this Inquisition, there is something only you can do for me.” He breathed slowly for a moment, composing himself. Cassandra was more patient than she had been in the past, and though she wanted to tell him to get on with it, she remained silent. Calm. “I trust your judgement. If the lyrium withdrawal becomes too much, if I am no longer able to carry out my duties, I want you to remove me from command and find a replacement. I will not endanger the Inquisition with my own selfish path.”

Selfish? Was that really how he saw this whole ordeal? Cassandra could think of nothing less so. He was putting so much at risk, his own life and sanity very much on the line, to remove himself from the Order and fully back the Inquisition. Perhaps she could make him understand later. For now, he was watching her with guarded, tired eyes. For now, she would agree. “I will watch you, and should the need arise I will replace you.” At her affirmation he relaxed, tension seeping from his posture. “I will do this as your friend, Cullen.” She let herself smile, let him see that. “You are doing the right thing, and I support you.”

“I- yes. Thank you.”

She turned back to the report in a clear signal of dismissal. He stood to leave. At the tent flap, he murmured “Good evening, Cassandra,” and slipped back out into the cold.

If only she could settle the Breach by smiling at it.

 

 


	5. Carver

The Breach was terrifying, if he had to pin the feeling down to one word. Carver was immensely glad he’d not arrived when it was still spitting out demons. Honestly, he was glad he wasn’t here when the explosion had happened in the first place. The scout that’d caught them on the road had explained it, a little, but words couldn’t even begin to accurately describe that… thing. He glanced back from the green hole in the sky to the squad he’d temporarily taken command of. They were all very young, or very old - whoever the village had been able to spare, he was told. The older ones would have valuable combat training and experience, if nothing else. And young didn’t automatically mean unable or unwilling to fight. Right now, though, those faces were tipped up fearfully to the sky. Hands were clenched around pack straps and reins.

“Steady,” he called back. A few grips loosened.

Haven came into view slowly. Trebuchets, then tents. A few wooden buildings. Ahead, the village proper was illuminated by the early morning sunlight. At the sign of civilization, the rest of the squad loosened up a bit. Nerves coupled with the giant gaping green thing in the sky hadn’t done much for their approach, but Carver was glad that they were finally starting to relax.

A soldier stopped them on the road - already outfitted in an unfamiliar uniform. Carver looked for the Inquisition symbol on his breastplate as he came to a stop. “State your name and purpose.”

“Carver Hawke, bringing supplies and soldiers for the Inquisition.” Remembering the scout’s words, he added, “I’ll need to see Seeker Pentaghast or Commander Cullen as well.”

The soldier saluted and left to report the newcomers. They didn’t have to wait long. The soldier came back with Cullen in tow. “Carver! I see you made the journey with no real trouble.”

“We did.” He dismounted, and gestured for the squad to do the same. “I understand congratulations are in order, _Commander_.”

“Yes, well, I’m quite certain that’s why Lady Cassandra recruited me in the first place.”

Carver shrugged. “It’s not that big of a change, you know. You were the de-facto Knight-Commander in Kirkwall.” He glanced back at the squad again. “They’re not a large force but they are eager, Commander. And they were all the village could spare,” he added, lowering his voice.

Cullen smiled at them. “Every hand that wishes to help is welcome. Jim,” he turned, addressing the soldier who’d first approached them. “Take Ser Carver’s horse and get these men to the stables, and then have Rylen get them assigned to tents.”

“Ser!”

Carver thought briefly, wistfully, of a tent. “I guess you have something else you need of me?”

Cullen motioned for him to follow and began walking. “How much, exactly, do you know about what’s going on?”

“Not much. A woman fell out of a… rift?” Cullen nodded. “She closed the Breach. People have been calling her the Herald of Andraste. Even the scout seemed fairly reverent.”

“But nothing else?”

“Nothing, no.” Carver raised an eyebrow. “Did the scout leave something important off? Is something wrong?” Maker, to survive that _thing_ in the sky just for something to happen now...

Cullen shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just surprised the scout didn't mention the Herald's heritage."

"Her heritage?" What would that have to do with anything?

Cullen opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a warm voice. "There you are, Commander!" They turned to face the woman who'd spoken, and Carver sincerely hoped he didn't look like he was ogling this beautiful stranger. "The other advisors are already in... the..." She seemed to focus on Carver then, and her smile was even warmer than her tone. "Hold a moment. I don't think we've met."

Carver agreed. He would definitely remember meeting someone so striking. She was Dalish, with tattoos curling around shining brown eyes. Her hair, a shade of blonde so light it looked nearly white, fell in tendrils around her dark face. Carver was stunned speechless. Thankfully, Cullen spoke before he could make an ass out of himself in silence. "Yes. Herald, this is Lieutenant Carver. Carver, our Lady Herald."

He glanced over at Cullen. "Lieutenant?"

"Oh, you hadn't told him yet." The Herald's cheeks flushed. "Sorry for interrupting, then. But Commander, your presence is needed at the war table."

She was even prettier blushing, which Carver absolutely did not notice and then blush himself. "Better good news now than bad later, Herald." He saluted before turning back to Cullen. "Until later, Commander. I'll go find Rylen and get settled in."

"Yes. Knight-Captain Rylen should be southwest, at the training grounds."

Carver turned and left before he could do something embarrassing like watch the Herald’s hips as she walked to the Chantry.

 

 


	6. Cullen

The thought of pouring more magic into what was already an unknown source terrified Cullen, and he felt no less for admitting it. The mark was a mystery to them. He was comforted, at least, by the vaguely sick look that the Herald wore at the idea. If even a mage thought more magic was a bad idea, he would take that victory. So he offered a solution. “I still think that Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so that-”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupted.

His fingers tightened where the rested, as if by habit now, on the hilt of his sword. “I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

“... can we not try both?” All of them turned to look at the Herald. She looked sicker than ever, with even her dark complexion looking paler in the candlelight. But rather than quail under their collective stares, she seemed to draw strength from it. When she spoke again, it was considerably louder and more confident. “This Breach is a threat. Why would we take the chance of only relying on one source to close it?” She shook her head. “Why don’t we build influence,” here she dipped her head toward Josephine, “and then simultaneously suppress the Breach and power up the Mark?” She looked down at her left hand, fingers curling and uncurling. “This thing is dangerous, yes, so we can minimize that danger by dividing the burden between adding power and suppression.”

Cassandra spoke first. “That… is not a bad idea, Herald.”

Leliana seemed unconvinced. “Are you sure? We don’t even know if the Templars could weaken the Breach.”

“We don’t know if mages can power the Mark, aside from what our magical advisor has theorized.” The twist of her lips looked almost smug, though Cullen wasn’t sure. She was a hard woman to read, sometimes, presenting warmth and friendliness almost constantly. Her Dalish markings didn’t help; they often obscured miniscule tells. Perhaps that was why Leliana seemed off-footing with her too. “So if a templar we trust says the Breach can be suppressed, I will accept his council.”

She was… supporting his idea. She’d used the word _trust_. Cullen found himself just a little more welcoming of the Herald. He’d truly expected his suggestion of turning to the templars to be stonewalled from the moment he’d heard the Herald was a mage. Perhaps he’d jumped to his conclusions of her too quickly.

“A fine point, Mistress Lavellan.” The Herald gave Josephine a grateful smile.

Cassandra’s voice was almost wry when she said “So what happened to ‘this sounds dangerous,’ Herald?”

The Herald let out a laugh. “I doubt closing the Breach will be a safe endeavor either way, ma falon. Might as well work some damage control ahead of time.”

“Do you truly think we can endear the two sides into working together?” Josephine looked at the Herald over her writing board. “The Conclave did not, though that was admittedly for outside reasons.”

Cassandra was frowning. “Can we make them work together?”

“If they won’t work together as separate forces,” the Herald said, “we can always just takes those that would join the Inquisition willingly. They would certainly be easier to coordinate.”

“They would probably be more willing to cooperate,” Cullen added. The Herald trusted his idea, even if the others thought it mere speculation. He found supporting her in return as easy as breathing.

The Herald placed her hands on the War Table and leaned forward. She’d taken charge of the meeting, Cullen noticed, and yet no one protested. He honestly saw no reason to - she was keeping things on task, she didn’t shy away from command - and following her direction just made sense, somehow. He wouldn’t argue it; the Inquisition hadn’t floundered since she’d started attending the Council meetings. She seemed accustomed to leadership, at least, and they were definitely working toward the same goals. “So we are in agreement, then? I will set out for the Hinterlands tomorrow and speak with Mother Giselle. Ambassador Josephine will look into contacts the mages and templars. Sister Leliana will continue to gather information. Commander Cullen will work with the new recruits.”

“Agreed.”

The Herald stood straight and clapped her hands together. “Excellent. Cassandra, pack your things. I’ll let Varric and Solas know we set out at dawn.”

 


	7. Cassandra

It was almost painful, having to cut down apostates and rogue templars alike, but both groups were terrorizing the civilians that made their home in the Hinterlands. Cassandra herself wondered that they didn’t leave; Varric’s chastisement that it was their home meant little to her. She’d been away from “home” for decades. But the Herald seemed to be of the same mind as Varric - she said if she had to choose between staying with her clan instead of being somewhere safe, she would choose her clan.

Cassandra hadn’t thought of it that way, considering people to be home. Yet she’d only tolerated Nevarra for Anthony’s sake. She could empathize with their desire to hold fast to what they had, while it was still around to hold. Perhaps there was some sense to Varric’s words (not that she would admit as much to him).

Cassandra hung back at a respectful distance while the Herald spoke with Mother Giselle, keeping an eye out for any stragglers from the warring groups. Solas vanished to, well, wherever the apostate went when they were not traveling or in combat. It made Cassandra nervous, but Solas had agreed to help stop the Breach - and the Herald had faith in him, so she would hold her tongue. Varric, it seemed, had gone to chat up the locals and find out more of what was going on. Cassandra didn’t like Varric any more than she had when they’d first met, but she could respect that he was honestly giving his all for the Inquisition.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Herald moving toward the little crossroads village. Cassandra fell in with her step easily enough. “Was she as helpful as Leliana hoped?”

“Even better.” In profile, the Herald’s mouth twisted from a satisfied grin. “She’s heading to Haven now. I told her we would speak to Corporal Vale about helping the refugees here.”

Corporal Vale. The name sounded familiar. “One of Commander Cullen’s men, I take it?”

The Herald’s response, whatever it would have been, was cut off by a muffled scream from the makeshift healing hut. With just a glance at each other, the two women came to an agreement and headed for the hut. Inside, a handful of local women and a frazzled-looking army surgeon were hovering around a bed. The woman on it was clearly the source of the screams. She was also heavily pregnant. Cassandra wasted no time turning toward the surgeon. “What’s happening?”

“She’s gone into labor, Seeker Pentaghast.” One of the Inquisition’s surgeons, then. “And there’s no midwife for miles.”

“Why not?”

“Killed in the crossfire about three days ago. Templar ran her through.”

Cassandra looked back over at the Herald who had divested of her gloves and breastplate while they’d been talking. She rolled her sleeves up and knelt at the foot of the bed, in just a tunic and leather breeches. “I’m going to need two basins of water - one hot now, one warm once the baby’s here. Get some blankets too. And someone get cool water and a washcloth; keep this woman as comfortable as possible.” Cassandra watched all this, a little starry-eyed. She’d seen the Herald command in battle, no problem, but this was something different entirely. And the woman was calm, collected, even though the screams hadn’t stopped and in fact blood had started to do more than trickle from the expecting mother. The Herald summoned healing magic, hands wreathed in blue-green. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

With the healing, the pregnant woman’s pain must have lessened enough to choke out “E-Emily, your Worship.”

“Alright, Emily, I’m here for you.” She kept healing, even as a contraction made Emily’s face contort in pain again. “Breathe, nice and easy, okay? You’re doing great.” The Herald glanced over at the woman who’d begun to press a cool cloth to Emily’s forehead. “Where’s the father?”

“Killed in action, milady. Four months ago, give or take.”

“Right. Cassandra!” Her voice was raised, but it was a tone of command, not of panic.

“Yes, Herald?”

The Herald took a deep breath. “Get me a lyrium potion, and then take off your gauntlets. Emily would benefit from a hand to hold.”

“Of course.”

And she did just that. She let Emily crush her hand with no complaint, the sounds of people outside muffled by Emily’s pained labor noises and the Herald muttering soothing platitudes. It felt liked hours before the thin, high sound of a baby wailing interrupted them. The Herald took the basin of warm water, reheated it with a quick swipe of her hand, and she carefully cleaned off the baby while one of the townswomen helped Emily drink an elfroot potion.

Cassandra watched as the Herald stood, holding that tiny life in her arms. It was a moment from a storybook, it felt like - the hero cradling the infant, haloed in the sunlight that streamed through the high window of the hut. She stepped around the bed and handed the child to waiting mother with a weary smile. “A healthy baby boy,” she said, and the answering smile from Emily was radiant.

“Thank you, my lady. The Maker himself must have sent you to me today.”

The Herald bowed her head. The surgeon saluted her as they stepped back out of the hut, Cassandra carefully snagging the Herald’s discarded armor on the way. The Herald sighed, glanced down at her blood-streaked tunic and arms, and snorted. “Perhaps we should head back to camp?”

They headed that way, regardless of what Cassandra might have replied, so she instead said “I didn’t know you knew how to deliver children.”

“You didn’t? Oh, right, shemlen.” The Herald didn’t ever try to hide her elven heritage, or her aloofness with humans. Cassandra had learned not to take it personally. She was often distant herself. “Yes, I’m a midwife. I’ve delivered several children to my clan. It’s part of my Way of study, the Vir Atish’an, which you would know if you knew vallaslin.” She gestured to her tattoos without actually touching bloodied hands to her face.

Ah. Cassandra still knew very little about the Dalish culture, even if Leliana had made reports available. “I myself have never seen childbirth before.”

“Really?” The Herald glanced over at her, a corner of her mouth twitching up. Her eyes were shining with amusement. “You did well, then, for a first. I’m sure you’re used to blood and such.”

“I was not expecting so _much_ of it,” Cassandra replied, earnestly. “That cannot be normal.”

The Herald nodded. “It’s not. I am very glad we were here today, and I still had mana to heal.” Something… well, Cassandra wasn’t sure how to describe it. Sad, maybe, or dark. Something unpleasant flitted across the Herald’s expression. “Having to choose between the mother’s life or the child’s can be difficult. We were fortunate that such didn’t happen today.”

“I- yes, Herald.”

The formal address was enough to chase the shadows away, at least in that moment. “Please, Cassandra. You’ve now seen me covered in birthing blood. If you don’t call me Samahl, it’s going to get weird.”

“Samahl.” She tried the name out on her tongue, unaccompanied by another name or title. It sounded warm. Comfortable. Ahead of them, camp loomed. Perhaps they would not get another moment privately for some time. “I-”

Varric’s voice cut across the air. “Andraste’s sanctified ass, what did you do?”

The Herald- _Samahl_ laughed in response and strode into camp. Cassandra stood a moment, adjusted the breastplate in her grip, and followed the woman she’d truly begun to think of as a friend.

 

 


	8. Carver

Carver waited at a table in the tiny Haven tavern and wondered just when Varric was going to show up. Things were a bit more serious than they’d been back in Kirkwall - more serious than Kirkwall, where the city had literally been falling apart around them - but as he’d told the dwarf before, he wouldn’t miss drinks later for the world. Maker forbid Varric find out that Carver was actually rather fond of him, maybe even enough to count him as a friend, but Carver was serious. And Varric said he’d be at the tavern later that evening.

He hadn’t said he’d be bringing company along.

The Herald trailed after Varric, looking exhausted but relieved to be safely back in Haven. Carver had seen her around the village, but he hadn’t spoken to her. In fact, he’d been thinking back to his fumbling attempts at flirting with Merrill and pointedly not speaking with the Herald. Dalish women were attractive, yes, but they were also veritable powerhouses capable of turning the tide of a fight single-handedly. Fate had a way of making him look like an ass in front of pretty, powerful women and so he’d avoided her to save himself some embarrassment.

“Little Hawke!” All feelings of goodwill toward Varric vanished in a puff of smoke. _That damnable nickname._  Starting the evening blushing wasn't how he'd planned it, but plans change. “Hope you don’t mind that I brought company. If anybody deserves a drink, it’s the keeper.”

The Herald laughed. “I’m not a Keeper yet, Varric, though with you lot running around I certainly feel like one.” She turned those brown eyes on Carver and he took a sip of his drink just to have something to do other than stick his foot in his mouth. “You’re one of Cullen’s templars, right? Lieutenant Carver.”

_She knows my name_ , he thought, followed closely by _don’t give her a reason to want to forget it, asshole_. “Yes, Herald.” Her nose wrinkled at the title. She was uncomfortable with it? Of course she was; it was a decidedly Andrastian title. Time for a subject change. “So you were the first of your clan?”

The Herald sat down and gave him a winning smile. Varric winked behind her back. Like Carver couldn’t notice when someone was uncomfortable with a title? He’d seen Marian called Champion long enough to pick up a cue or two. Flissa brought drinks over for them without being prompted, and the Herald took a swig before she responded. “I was, in fact. Samahl, first of the Lavellan clan. How’d you know?”

Varric’s look was a little too knowing for Carver’s comfort. “Aw, you **did** pay attention when Daisy was talking.”

“Daisy?” the Herald asked.

“One of my sister’s companions,” Carver clarified, hoping that she wouldn’t get hung upon the related-to-the-champion part. “Merrill, first of the Mahariel clan.”

Varric was still giving him that look, so Carver took a drink and tried to ignore him. “You paid close attention, there, Little Hawke.” The Herald raised an eyebrow.

Carver scowled down at his drink. “Of course I did. She was telling us about her clan.” He tried not to grip his stein too tightly. “It was important to her.”

“Clan is incredibly important to a First.” The Herald looked, well, thoughtful. She toyed with her own stein, which Carver could tell was already close to empty. “It speaks well of you that you paid such close attention and remembered so much.”

“I- … thank you, Herald.” She winced again. “Would it be alright if I called you Samahl, instead?”

Varric’s eyebrows shot upward, but the Herald’s relaxed shoulders and sudden grin were worth it. “I would be eternally grateful, Lieutenant. I’m no spokesperson for a shemlen god.” She gestured to her face. “It’s not difficult to see that.”

Carver hoped the alcohol wouldn’t trip up his tongue. “Who is your vallaslin dedicated to, if you don’t mind my asking?” Samahl blinked at him, eyes wide. Varric’s eyebrows rose even further, if it was possible. “Unless I totally fucked up that pronunciation.”

Samahl shook her head. “No, that was… unexpectedly good, for a shemlen. For a templar.”

“Merrill told me about them.”

Varric rubbed his chin. “I don’t remember hearing about that.”

“... Marian asked me to check up on her sometimes, when you were busy.” Carver shrugged, trying to calm his nerves. “She wasn’t just friends with my sister, you know.”

“I’m just glad she had you too,” Varric finally said. Carver knew the dwarf had a soft spot for their mutual Dalish friend, but the sincere gratitude coming from him was still a surprise.

The table was quiet for a moment. Eventually, Samahl spoke. “So, to answer your question, the Vir Atish’an was revealed to me when I was a young girl…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes I am not dead and this fic is not dead; updates will be sporatic but eventually this will get done.


End file.
